


Nikao (Nee-kah-oh, to overcome; to be victorious)

by Idreamofhazel



Series: Nikao [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Violence, F/M, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Minor Character Death, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-01-05 19:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idreamofhazel/pseuds/Idreamofhazel
Summary: You’ve finally broken up with your boyfriend. It’s the best decision for you. You weren’t happy. But he comes back with a violent streak, slowly taking over your life, and you become trapped and lost, living with a man who has changed for the worse. Then two FBI agents arrive in town, and your life takes a dramatic turn. With their help, you find a way to break free and heal, and you do things you never thought possible. But there is still a dangerous evil running rampant in your hometown… Will you be able to defeat it?(This entire series has been written in consultation with someone who has experienced an abusive relationship themselves. They read over the chapters and gave advice; therefore the story is meant to be done tastefully and accurately. It is not graphic and actual partner violence happens once in the first chapter, then is only alluded to throughout.)





	1. Chapter 1

The night was heavy. Moisture hung in the air and stuck to his skin, he peeled denim back from his thighs, undulated his shirt to flow cool air across his stomach. It was temporary relief. He stalked the streets, bottle in hand, feeling the night weigh on him as your words sunk in. He looked to the stars for an answer, the streets for a distraction. _We’re over._

No. It couldn’t be. He loved you. And you– you loved him. You had to.

Memories of the smell of your hair, your lips brushing against his, slammed into his brain without warning. He kicked the nearest trash bin and fell to his knees into something cold and wet. He was a mess without you, but you were too stubborn to see that. You couldn’t leave him. He needed you, like air, like water. He’d show you that you had to be with him, that he was perfect for you. You needed him too. You couldn’t end things with him. He loved you.

He stood and staggered, somehow still holding onto the bottle. The streetlight above him flickered and he looked up, hand over his eyes, shielding them from the light. It kept flickering. He moved on, turned around and began walking home.

Home was further than he thought. How long had he been walking? His mouth felt like chalk, his muscles like jello. All his energy had been spent on missing you. He saw a bench and collapsed onto it. The bottle fell from his hands, empty, the glass against concrete barely registering in his ears. The streetlights around him flickered again.

“What? The city can’t even pay for its own electricity!” he shouted into the sky.

The wind picked up. He wiped his eyes, shivered as a chill ran down his spine. He stopped, hand over one eye, watching as a cloud of smoke formed in front of him. It moved with the wind, rushing towards him. He fell off the bench and tried to run, but tripped, skinning his palms. He turned over, screaming as the black cloud came closer. He scrambled backwards on his hands and feet, not moving fast enough, eyes wide with horror.

The black cloud caught up to him, rushed at him, and entered his mouth. And with its entrance, his whole world went black.

* * *

You were better off without him. A weight was lifted off your chest, your wings unclipped. This was the right decision for you.

Deep breaths. Use the tissue. Think of something else.

But why did it hurt so bad? Why did you feel loss? Why did you miss him?

You needed a distraction, music, wine–anything. Whatever movie was playing on Hallmark, a cheesy feel-good flick to get you through the emotions. But those were always about love…. You turned the tv off, dropped the remote beside you. Blew your nose again.

You stood from the couch to lock your front door when you heard four knocks. At this time of night? Through the peephole you saw him.

“What do you want?” you said, swinging the door open wide.

His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, glazed over like he had been drinking. If he were going to apologize, you didn’t want to hear it.

“Baby I…. I need you.”

“We’re over. You need to leave.”

You jumped as he slammed his palms against the doorframe.

“No! You can’t just kick me out! This is my place too!”

“Goodnight, Seth.”

You started to close the door, but he put his hand up. You pushed back and told him to leave, but he was too strong. Stronger than you remembered.

His eyes weren’t hazy anymore; no redness from crying showed. He looked alert and ready to blow.

He grabbed your shirt and yanked you close. “I’m not going anywhere. You belong to me, I love you, can’t you see that?”

You could barely move, confused and scared, but you gathered every ounce of fight you owned and spat in his face.

Seth dropped you and smacked you across the face. He shoved you away from him, making you trip and fall.

“Why would you do that?” he bellowed, “After everything I’ve done for you? You ungrateful bitch!”

There was no reaction from you, nothing you could say. You sat there on the floor, tears threatening to spill. The wrist you landed on ached and throbbed.

Seth would never do this to you. He must be drunk…

“Look, calm down, let’s just…let’s just get you cleaned up and we’ll talk about this in the morning, ok?” Your voice shook with tears.

“I’ll clean myself up. Just….go to bed.” He waved you off.

You nodded and stood up slowly, leaving him alone in the living room.

In your bathroom, you turned on the faucet and examined your face in the mirror. A bruise was already forming across your cheek, hand-sized and purple. You cried, hoping the running water would mask your noises. What were you going to do? Seth had never done this before, and if you reported him, he could go to jail for a mistake… a drunken mistake…You had done this to him after all, made him emotionally unstable by breaking up with him. You had to fix this. You would talk to him in the morning, explain yourself, try to end things on a good note. Seth would understand. He would be reasonable once he slept off the alcohol.

* * *

“You know, I always think sleep is gonna help, but I wake up feeling hammered, like literally beaten with a hammer.” Dean slouched over the motel table, coffee barely in his hand, the other shielding his eyes from the afternoon light.

“It’s because you’re thirty six, not twenty six. Lay off the purple nurples, will you?” Sam, quite the opposite of Dean, bounced around the motel room in his jogging outfit, a sheen of sweat covering his brow and shoulders. His coffee was half drunk and his eyes were taking in sunlight and fluorescent light, basking in it, even.

“That was one time- you know, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is I had an awesome night while you nerded it out alone, looking up-” Dean haphazardly grabbed a file off the table, completely at random, and opened it. “Really Sam? The serial killer fetish? Again?”

Sam snatched the file back and placed it neatly with the others. “Again, it’s not a fetish. And this is for a case.”

“Serial killers aren’t exactly our type of thing.”

“This case has nothing to do with serial killers.”

Dean’s mouth hung open for a second, his head cocked. Dean couldn’t see how having a folder on a serial killer meant the case had nothing to do with serial killers.

“There’s this town in New Mexico, Socorro, small, mostly quiet, but get this,” Sam bounced around the room some more, flipping through notes and printouts, “They’ve had more domestic violence and assault charges filed in the last three months than they’ve had in ten years.”

Dean whistled. Now that was something. “What’re’you thinking? Some type of ghost possession, shape shifter-”

“Demons.”

“Demons?”

“Yeah. We know that some demons have a specific vice they exist for, right? Like the seven deadly sins, or the fear demon we exorcised on that airplane like, six years ago or something. And remember that kid back in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho, Jeffery? Who was possessed by that serial killer demon?”

“Yeah, yeah, he started killing women on his own, the demon basically _excited the urges_ that were already there.”

“Exactly. I think this could be going on in Socorro, too. Maybe a demon, or demons, are hopping hosts and spreading this, this violent streak in people. Nothing else could spread that wide that quickly.”

Dean chewed on it for a half second, nodded in approval, and then stood up, quickly reminded of his hangover as the room spun around him. “Ok, but first, I want the greasiest breakfast I can get here. Gotta have good fats for my brain, gotta crack this case fast.”

“Bacon grease hardly counts as a good fat–”

“Oh just shut it. You’re making my head worse.”


	2. Chapter 2

The office was quiet this afternoon, only the sound of keyboards in the cubicles behind you and your pen scratching out notes were heard. You worked silently, glancing up at the storefront windows every so often, watching, and then returning to your work. You tugged at the neck of your sweater, the itchy material pricking your neck as your body temperature rose.

“Need me to turn the air down?”

Janice, the middle-aged, sweet-hearted office manager, was walking by your desk, her bright pink tweed cardigan catching your peripheral.

“No, I’m fine,” you said softly. Conversation could be distracting, and you preferred it to be directed away from you.

“Alright, if you say so. Why in heavens you wear those sweaters in the middle of May, I don’t know. But suit yourself.”

You smiled at Janice, enough to placate her and get her on her way. She walked back to her office, and you watched the windows again for a few seconds.

A client was trying to file a claim, but the accident had been their fault. Their thought process was astonishing. What did they expect to get from an accident they had caused?

The bell on the front door rang, and your body went rigid. You dropped the pen and looked up. Two men walked in, wearing black suits, looking too professional for any business around here. They walked up to your desk.

“Hello Miss,” the tallest one glanced at the nameplate on your desk, “Y/L/N, I’m agent Mathison and this is agent Walker.” They each flashed an FBI badge at you. “Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?”

You looked around them, a quick glance out the door before you gave an answer. “Uh, sure, if it won’t take too long, I do have a lot of work to-”

“No, no. It won’t take long at all. We just have a couple quick questions,” Agent Walker said.

You nodded, and looked around them again.

“Are you aware of the violent incidents that have been happening around town?” Mathison spoke, trying to keep eye contact with you, but you were switching between the men and the door.

“Yeah, yes. I’m aware.”

“And the fact that three of the victims are connected to this insurance agency?”

“Yeah. I mean, what?” Your eyes snapped to the agent, focusing on him for the first time. You forgot he was FBI, looking into his eyes, watching a piece of hair fall onto his forehead.

“One of the employees here and two of your customers have been victims of violent attacks in the last month. Mrs. Janice Graham was one.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know. She never said anything, you never really talked to anyone in the office, not anymore.

“Have you noticed anything strange going on?”

“Strange?”

“Like, uh, odd behavior from people you know,” Walker chimed in, “personality changes, sulfur smell in the office, people with black eyes?”

“What? I- sulfur?”

Agent Mathison put his hand up to his partner, silencing him before he could speak. He didn’t seem to understand the words coming out of his partner’s mouth either.

“Sorry, he’s new.”

“I really should be getting back to work, I have a client waiting on a call from the office.”

“Ok well, here, call me if anything strange does happen, like behavioral changes or angry outbursts.” Agent Mathison handed you a card.

You quickly snatched the card and placed it on your desk.

“Thank you for your time.” Agent Mathison turned around, having said goodbye with a polite smile. You watched the windows until the agents disappeared.

It was an hour until lunch, five until you clocked out and had to go home and tell Seth about your day. What would Seth do if he saw you talking to two men? Would he believe they were FBI?

If you kept the card here, he wouldn’t find out. You picked up the card and stuffed it in a drawer under some files, and returned to the claim. And then you forgot the contact information and the men, situating your mind under the mounds of work left to do.

* * *

“Did you notice anything about that woman earlier? The secretary?” Sam tugged at the collar of his white button up, letting cool air pass through before letting go again. The New Mexico heat was shrinking his clothes so that every inch of fabric stuck to his skin.

“Who? The quiet one? You don’t think she’s our perp, do you?” Dean walked up onto Mrs. Graham’s porch.

“No! No, I just, she kept watching the door like she was scared, and who wears turtlenecks in this heat?”

“Who wears three piece suits in this heat?” Dean knocked on the door.

Sam shrugged. He had a fair point.

A middle-aged, well-endowed woman wearing a very pink skirt and blazer answered the door. They hadn’t seen her at the office earlier that day. She was all smiles until they held up their badges and introduced themselves.

“This has something to do with Richard, doesn’t it?” she asked, her tone taking on a much less friendly sound.

“Yes, we’re afraid this is about your husband,” Sam said.

“ _Ex_ husband,” she emphasized as she stood aside to let them in, “Come on in.”

Sam and Dean walked into her living room and followed her lead as she sat down on one of the plush, white couches.

“We didn’t realize you were divorced,” Dean said.

“Well, it’s not final yet, but after what he did to me…” She shook her head.

“Can you tell us what happened? Why you think it happened?” Sam asked.

“I’m not really sure. One minute he was my sweet Richard, and then the next, he was screaming at me and trying to shove me around. All because I burnt his dinner and we had to get takeout!”

“So, would you say, it was like he changed, almost like he wasn’t himself, like he could’ve been possessed?” Dean probed.

Sam squirmed in his seat, worried that Dean was asking the weird questions too soon for the second time today. 

“Possessed? Heavens no.”

“Well, I don’t mean that literally, of course.”

Janice hummed and nodded. “Yes, well he always did have a bit of a mean streak, especially when he was drunk, but he never put his hands on me. Not until a month ago. I never saw it coming.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“I know this is going to sound weird,” Sam said, “But bear with us. Leading up to the attack, did your husband act different in other ways? Did you ever smell something strange in the house, like sulfur? Or maybe his eyes changed color?”

“No. None of that happened.”

Her curtness struck Dean as odd. “You sure about that?”

Janice flew out of her chair, the pink tweed suit rushing towards Dean in a cotton-candy blur. With her hands around his neck and her shouts in his ears, he couldn’t see Sam trying to pull her off of him. He flailed and smacked and kicked, missing Janice and hitting Sam.

Her eyes turned black and Dean wheezed out one word to Sam. “Demon!”

Dean reached into his pocket and out came the demon blade, but it was knocked out of his hand before he had the chance to use it. Sam quickly picked it up and swiped at Janice, ripping the horrendous suit and cutting the demon in the arm. She arched her back and screamed in surprise. Sam splashed holy water on her and she continued to screech, eyes black and face red. Dean kicked at her stomach with both feet and sent her tumbling to the ground. He pulled out his gun and shot her in the leg, thankful for Sam’s ability to recognize demon signs and that he had loaded all his guns with devil’s trap bullets.

Janice–or the demon inside her–tried to get up, but only jerked left and right desperately. She continued to shriek and snap her teeth like a rabid dog.

Dean straightened his stance, squared his shoulders, and walked slowly to the side of the demon. “You almost had us fooled Janice, or should I say, _not_ Janice.”

“Wow, real intimidating.” Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean’s hands flew up in a _seriously?_ stance. “Quit stealing my thunder!”

Sam was unbothered. “You’re stealing your own thunder.”

“You can’t steal your own-”

“Ooooh I’m shaking,” the demon interrupted, “You hunters are so scary!” She began cackling until Sam flicked a bit of holy water on her. She abruptly stopped and hissed at him.

Dean ducked down to her level, taking the knife out and pointing it at her chin. “We actually are scary, pretty terrifying actually. You want to know what I can do with this knife?”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of, either.”

Dean cut her other arm, and she shrieked in pain. “We can make this easy, or hard. All we want to know is what’s going on in this town. Why are so many demons here?”

The demon began laughing again. “It doesn’t matter what I tell you, you’ll never be able to defeat Eris.”

“Eris, huh?” Dean turned around to look up at Sam, who nodded and then began reciting the exorcism.

When the demon was gone, Janice was disoriented and couldn’t remember much of what happened. The cuts from the knife were quickly described as defense wounds on Sam and Dean’s part. Lucky for them, Janice remembered enough to know something strange had happened to her, and didn’t ask too many questions. They left her bandaged and frightened, but whole and safe nonetheless.

Sam and Dean were not relieved as they drove back to the motel. They had not come much closer to solving this case, needing to do more research. Who was Eris and what did they want with the citizens of Socorro?

* * *

You continued to push your cart towards your car in a parking lot lit only by a few lamps. One wheel of the cart was broken, squealing and grinding against the asphalt. A breeze blew by, lifting strands of your hair. There was a clanging sound somewhere in the parking lot.

You stopped, looked around, and saw nothing but a few cars and cart corrals. You were alone.

You moved on, picking up the pace. You never did like being out at night, especially in stranded, eery parking lots. You needed to hurry, Seth was waiting on his beer.

You heard the clanging noise again and spun around, checking every area of the parking lot for the source of the sound. Again, you saw nothing. Your car was ten feet away, so you jogged towards the door, stopping and digging in your purse for your keys.

Finally, you felt them, cold against your fingertips at the bottom of the bag. As you pulled them out, an arm wrapped around your neck and stomach, yanking you backwards.

You gasped and dropped your bag as a hand went over your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh, we don’t want to make a scene now, do we?” a man whispered into your ear.

You didn’t recognize the voice at first, but it could only be one person. You slowed your breathing and relaxed, signaling to him that you weren’t going to fight. He dropped his hand from your mouth and rested it over your heart.

“Seth?”

The man laughed, and you tensed again, struggling under the man’s grasp. “No, but whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.” The attacker stroked your cheek. “Now, I only want one thing from you. I want all the money you have with you.”

You didn’t have much, maybe five dollars. You spent all the money Seth gave you for the groceries, and you didn’t have a card. But you agreed anyway, hoping to be able to dial 911 while searching for money.

The man let go of you, and you turned around to get a quick look at him. He had a gun in one hand and he smiled when you saw it. He waved it, saying _go on._

You dug through your purse, trying to buy time without taking too long, when the man grunted and a shot was fired.

You froze, waiting for the pain to hit you, to feel warm, oozing blood down your stomach, but you didn’t. You looked up and saw the agents from earlier fighting your attacker. You scrambled backwards until your back hit the car and you sank to the ground.

Agent Mathison knocked the gun out of the man’s hand and Agent Walker pulled out a knife. When he plunged it into the man’s back, the man’s skin lit up like orange lightning. But that couldn’t be… That was impossible.

Agent Walker wiped the blade on his jacket, and Mathison saw you on the ground, quivering and trying not to cry. He came over and knelt down in front of you.

“Hey, it’s ok, he’s gone, you’re safe.” He spoke softly. You almost believed him.

He reached a hand out to help you up, but you flinched.

He recoiled. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you recognize us from earlier?” You nodded, and he continued. “I’m Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. We’re here to help you.”

“H-how did you find me?”

“We, uh, we’re tracking people showing odd behavior. It’s lucky we showed up when we did.”

“I thought you were agents?” you questioned, eyeing their unusual weapons and pulling your knees closer to your chest.

With a cheeky grin not quite right for the situation, Dean, while putting the knife back under his jacket, said, “Not the kind of agents you’re thinking of, sweetheart.”


	3. Chapter 3

Pulling up across from your house, a sick feeling overtook your stomach in waves, flip flopping with rolls of nausea. You sat silent in the back seat. Sam and Dean loaded their guns, put flasks inside their jackets, and stuck knives in their boots.

Dean turned around, laying his arm over the back of the bench seat. “Ok, look, I’m gonna need you to stay here while we check the house.”

“What? Why?” you said. “And what are you doing with all that stuff?”

“Protocol.”

“This is my house.”

“Seth is… he hasn’t been himself lately, has he?” Sam said.

“I don’t see how that has to do with anything. What kind of agents _are_ you anyway?”

Dean looked at Sam, raised an eyebrow. Sam reached to the gun tucked in his pants and handed to you. “We can’t let you inside unless you’re protected.”

You took the gun even though you wouldn’t need to use it. You just wanted to go home.

You followed Sam and Dean out of the car but went up to the door first, your alibi locked and loaded as you knocked four times.

Seth’s cold eyes fell on you as he opened the door. “Where the hell-”

Sam cleared his throat behind you.

Seth looked up. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Seth,” you said, “Let us in, I’ll explain.”

Seth blocked the doorway until he understood that nobody was leaving. He stood aside to let everyone in, and shut the door behind you with force.

You scanned the room. It was unusually clean. “You weren’t drinking last night.” You attempted to make small talk.

“You never brought me my beer.”

“I was mugged last night. These two men helped me.”

“Oh I bet they helped. How long does it take to help someone and bring them home again?”

“Seth…”

He turned to Sam and Dean. “Thank you for getting my girlfriend home. I’d like to spend some time with her alone now.”

You could feel Sam close behind you. “We got a good look at her attacker, if you want to press charges.”

“I said leave. Now.”

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said, stepping towards Seth, putting his hands out in surrender.

Seth read the body language wrong and hit Dean’s hand away from him. Dean twisted Seth’s arm behind his back, holding him against his chest.

“What’s the problem? Losing control of yourself?” Dean spoke into his ear, holding the jagged knife to his neck.

Seth struggled but couldn’t escape Dean’s hold. Sam put his hand on your shoulder and gently moved you back as he stepped forward. Dean held Seth tight as Sam began speaking words in a language you didn’t understand. It confused you and Seth, who struggled under Dean’s hold while glaring at Sam.

Whatever was supposed to happen didn’t. Sam and Dean frowned. Sam stopped his incantation and Dean took the knife and cut Seth’s arm. He yelped and fought back more, finding a surge of energy and breaking free of Dean while he was distracted.

Seth elbowed Dean in the stomach as Sam lunged at him.

“Not a demon!” Dean wheezed.

“Yeah, I got that!” Sam said with a grunt, punching Seth across the face.

Seth stumbled backwards and fell into a bookcase. He tried to get up, but Sam and Dean were on the floor, grabbing his arms and holding him down.

“Looks like we got ourselves a regular asshole this time, Sam,” Dean said.

“Looks like it.”

“Stop! Just stop! Don’t hurt him!” you shouted, upset and frightened.

The front door swung open before Sam could speak, flying off the hinges and landing across the room with a loud crash. You all stared at the doorway, hearts pounding.

Black boot heels walked in, slowly tapping the hardwood floor with each step, carrying legs dressed in crisp, black pants. Your eyes traveled up to a blazer and a gold blouse, then further to lips painted black and long hair blowing in the wind. The intruder was unbothered by the scene before her, her gaze roaming your living room and landing on you, her eyes flashing gold.

Sam stood, reaching into his jacket; Dean raised his knife. Before they finished, they flew through the air and slammed against the wall, their weapons falling to the floor. You jumped backwards, dropping the gun.

“What the hell…” Seth was scrambling on the floor, trying to pull himself up.

“Be still,” the woman said, and he was. His eyes went wide as he realized he couldn’t move.

“Hey! Let me go you bitch!” he screamed, twitching and jolting under the invisible force.

The golden-eyed woman pondered Seth for a moment, her face falling into soft consideration as she watched him struggle. She came to some sort of conclusion and her face hardened again.

“I have no need for you anymore.” She turned her hand in the air, and Seth’s neck snapped. He slumped to the ground, a lifeless heap among the books and broken shelves.

You screamed, the sound catching in your throat as you doubled over, gagging. Sam continued to thrash and grunt under the force of this woman, trying to break free.

“Who are you?” he growled.

“My name is Eris.”

“ _The_ Eris?”

She laughed. “No, not the one you’re thinking of. Although, I am the one from whom those stories come.” Her eyes glowed brighter as she talked.

“Doesn’t matter who you are. You’re a demon,” Dean spat.

Her head jerked towards Dean. “A Prince of Hell, mind you. I am no common demon spawn.”

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, still struggling against the wall.

“Spreading discord, of course! Poor Seth here, he was my first. There was so much delicious rage in him waiting to be unleashed. All he needed was a little push. You wouldn’t believe the thoughts swimming around in that terrible, manipulative brain of his. He was just itching to get back at you for all the pain you caused him.”

Sam grunted again, throwing his head back as he tried to break free of Eris’ hold.

“Even if you could break free, it would be no use. I have all of my demons waiting outside for you, should you do something rash,” she stated.

“You little-” Dean tried to speak, but was cut off short by Eris.

“Quiet! Did you not learn from Seth’s mistake? I do not take insults lightly.” Suddenly, the grips on Sam and Dean were gone and they fell to the ground. “Let’s have some fun, yes?”

You watched in horror as Eris walked over to Dean and put her hand on his forehead. At her touch, his eyes glowed with a reflection of her gold irises. She removed her hand and disappeared.

You and Sam stood still, waiting. Dean rose slowly and took a knife from his boot. He looked at Sam first.

“Dean?”

He lunged at Sam.

You could only stand in place, frozen and confused, taking turns staring at Sam and Dean and the body of your dead boyfriend.

“Y/N!”

You made eye contact with Sam.

“Get out of here!” He could barely get the sentence out while he struggled with Dean.

Sam was holding Dean back, his hands grasping Dean’s shoulders, Dean pushing on Sam. They were at a standstill until gained traction, sending Dean teetering backwards. Dean regained his balance, swinging the knife at Sam again. He kept swinging, and Sam blocked every swipe, but he wasn’t gaining the offensive.

You should have left. Sam told you to leave, to get out of this mess, but where would you go? There were… _demons_ outside. You couldn’t leave Sam alone to fight Dean.

There was a loud bang as Sam crashed into the wall across from you, smacking his head and falling to the floor. Sam was dazed by the hit. Dean stalked towards him with a knife. He wouldn’t get up in time. Your stomach dropped as you envisioned what would happen next. Dean would kill Sam.

You remembered your gun. You lifted it and shot.

Sam flinched, thinking he had been hit. Dean stopped in his tracks. The bullet hit his left shoulder, but he didn’t go down. He turned around, growling and raising his knife towards you.

Sam picked himself up and delivered a blow to the back of Dean’s head with the handle his own gun, and Dean fell out cold.

“Quick! Get me something to stop the bleeding!” Sam ducked down next to Dean, examining the wound.

You sprinted to the kitchen, throwing open drawers and cabinets. Where were the damn towels anyway? Panic rose as your stomach churned and acid burned your throat. What if you had killed Dean? You didn’t mean to kill, you only wanted to stop him…

You found a couple of thicker drying towels. You ran back into the living room and handed them to Sam. He pressed one to each side of the wound, but blood was seeping through.

“Stay here and push down on his shoulder,” Sam said, getting up without giving you a chance to respond.

You did as Sam said while he checked all the windows.

You could feel Dean’s blood soaking through the towels, warm and wet on your hands. You closed your eyes and turned your head away, focusing on anything else, your breathing, Sam’s footsteps around the house, the air conditioning kicking on….

“I don’t see anyone out there.” Sam was back in the living room, this time crouched next to you. “Let me see.”

You removed your hands and stuck them out awkwardly away from you. You could feel blood stuck in every line of your palms.

“Get me another large towel.” Sam’s voice was firm and more focused on his brother now.

You took off to the bathroom, focusing on each task at hand, each motion you had to take.

Turn the doorknob. Open the door. Take three steps. Pull open the cabinet. Grab the towel. Walk out the door. Hand the towel to Sam.

When you re-entered the room, Dean was coming to, propped up against a wall. Sam put his palm out towards you, telling you to stay back.

Dean groaned and grumbled as his eyes opened. Sam kept his hands firm on Dean’s shoulder, stopping the bleeding and pinning him down.

“Am I going to have to kick your ass again?” Sam said.

Dean lifted his head, moaned, and dropped it back against the wall. “Son of bitch,” he muttered.

“Get up, you were shot and we need to get you out of here,” Sam said.

Dean seemed confused but allowed Sam to help him up anyway. Sam checked his wound as he stood.

“You’re lucky. The bullet went straight through.” Sam stuck his hand out for the towel you brought, and you handed it to him, still keeping your distance. He tied it tightly around Dean’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, I’m damn lucky. Who shot me anyway?” Dean was moving towards the door with Sam’s help.

“She did.” Sam nodded towards you.

Dean looked at you and weakly smirked. “Good shot.”

“W-what? I almost killed you,” you stuttered.

Sam and Dean laughed. “Nah,” Sam said, “He’s suffered way worse.”

They walked out your front door, carrying on like this was an everyday occurrence. You followed, not realizing the decision you were about to make until your shoes hit the threshold.

Your toes dangled just over the edge, your hand held tight to the doorframe. You observed Sam and Dean hobbling down the sidewalk, how Dean leaned into Sam for support, and Sam carried the weight of it all with ease. Would they want you with them?

The wind picked up, rustling through the trees and whistling in your ears. You felt like it was ushering you to make a choice as it blew not towards you into the house, but in the opposite direction, towards the Impala. It felt like a sign, like it was trying to pick you up and move you forward. What would happen if you went with them?

What would happen if you stayed? You turned around, looking at Seth one last time. Your throat tightened at the sight of him limp and cold, splatters of blood staining the floor around him. Some of it was Sam and Dean’s, some of it Seth’s. You stretched out your hands, looking down at Dean’s dried blood etched into the lines of your palms. You looked up to the car again.

You couldn’t stay here.

You walked off the porch, slamming the door behind you. Sam turned around. He didn’t say anything, didn’t make a funny face, didn’t question your choice. He was checking to see if you were coming, as if you had been with him all along and were part of the routine, like looking over his shoulder for you made perfect sense. Your heart was thumping and your stomach still churning. You took shaky breaths as you timidly sat in the back seat of their car, but something made sense.

You felt hope.


	4. Chapter 4

The Bunker, as you learned on your first day of fugitive life, was full of mysteries, all of which you dared not explore. There were also odd sounds that kept you up when all you wanted to do was forget the events of last night, and now Sam was throwing information at you at a speed you couldn’t keep up with. And you were trying to find the desire to eat, but you could only nibble on the sandwich he had insisted on making you.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t have any questions?” Sam was forgoing lunch in place of worrying about you and Dean. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Demons. Possession. Dead boyfriend. Got it.” _What more did Sam want you to understand?_

“Ok. Um, what about the bunker? Dean and me?”

You rubbed your temples. “Other than living in an underground facility with monsters and men I don’t know, no.” _You didn’t intend to sound so mean but… where was the hope you felt last night?_

“There’s no monsters in the bunker, it’s safe.”

You weren’t sure if any place felt safe anymore. You thought being here would be different but the longer you sat with the memories of last night, the worse your mood became. But you couldn’t exactly tell Sam that, not with him being so eager to make you comfortable…

Sam’s phone rang with a call from Dean.

…And busy with taking care of his brother. Whom you shot.

“I’ll be back to clean this up. Come and get me if you need anything.”

“Mhm.”

You never went searching for Sam. You didn’t need anything, not anything you could ask for. He’d given you food, a place to sleep, and a warm shower. Asking for more was out of the question.

You didn’t finish your food. You sat for ten minutes debating whether leaving it on the table or attempting to clean up after yourself was the best option. Then you debated which option Sam would be most annoyed by. And then you cried.

Everything was strange here. You missed home, and in some ways, you missed Seth.

What were you even doing here, really? What did you think was going to happen? Some big miracle to fix your life? A clean slate, free of your memories and fears? A chance to do something differently? Maybe none of that would happen.

But what would you go back to if you left?

* * *

As the days went on inside your self-imposed restrictions, the odd sounds of the bunker became white noise that helped you sleep, and the layout of the halls and rooms was mapped in your brain to a functional level. The library in particular was becoming harder to resist. Left alone for a couple hours, you stopped in the doorway, peeping around the corner, eyes roaming over the books which sat in rows upon rows of thick, wooden shelves. What would the Winchesters need a massive library for?

You pulled yourself away from the doorway, your fingertips finding the spines of the novels and running across them as you read their titles. You picked up a few until your arm was full.

Your collected stack landed with a dull thud on a table as you sat down to read. The first book you opened depicted horned creatures with blood-soaked teeth and illustrations of victims, sprawled out with limbs and organs missing. You shut that book and went for another. _Demonology for the Ages_. Maybe a different one… _Ectoplasm: Personal Accounts of Ghost Possessions_. Tentatively, you read the preface, then you dove into the chapters.

Sam happened upon you studying in the library sometime later. You had only a single lamp on. The warm light casted shadows on the side of your face. Books were strewn in front of you, some open and some closed. Your cheek rested on your hand as you lazily turned pages.

Sam smiled; you had found something to do, you were learning about his world. He had been so busy with Dean and making sure the Bunker was livable that he hadn’t taken the time to check in. He debated sitting down with you now, showing you what he knew, guiding you along in your learning. But he held back. Did you want him to sit with you?

You looked up as if you heard his thoughts. You were soft and sleepy, satiated with information, a red splotch across your cheek where your hand had been. Your eyes were glassy, ready for a break, and your movements slow.

“Did you need something?” you asked, worry in your voice like you had done something wrong.

Sam shook himself from his daze and got off the doorway. “No, no, I was just passing through and saw you– I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.”

“Oh no, you didn’t,” you smiled, just barely, but enough to make Sam’s knees weak, “It’s late, isn’t it? I always lose track of time, there’s just so much I don’t know, and I get caught up in reading anyway.” You began closing books and stacking them up.

“It’s not, but you can stay up as late as you want. I’m usually up late doing the same thing.”

“Oh, well…” You looked around at the books, then back to Sam. “I have been reading a while.”

“What were you reading about? I could help.” He walked over to the table, inviting himself to sit down as long as you didn’t protest.

You avoided eye contact, looking down at your books. “I actually did have some questions.”

“Ok, shoot.” He sat at the table, hands folded on top, an open book ready for your taking. Very rarely did he have someone to teach, and never did he have an opportunity to be open with a civilian. He wasn’t trying to save you from becoming a monster or keep you in the dark about his life. It may have been selfish or callous of him to enjoy the honesty and transparency, but he couldn’t help it.

“So, um, vengeful spirits are common, yes?” you asked. Sam nodded, and you continued, flipping a couple of pages, “I get the hauntings, I guess, and being attached to certain items or their remains, but ghost possession? What makes that different from demon possession?”

“Well, demons are human souls that have been in hell and have been warped. They usually possess people to wreak havoc on earth. Ghosts are souls trapped on earth who haven’t gone to either heaven or hell, and only the most vengeful ones possess people. They have the biggest reason to stay and try to finish whatever business they think is unfinished. And it’s a lot harder to expel a demon than it is a ghost.”

You nodded silently, mulling over the information. “How can you tell when someone’s possessed?”

“Just looking at someone, you wouldn’t know. In ghost possession, ectoplasm, black goo stuff, will fall out of their eyes, nose, or ears, but demons don’t show any signs of that. If they reveal their black eyes, you would know, or if you splashed holy water on them, but they’re masters of disguise.” Sam paused, noticing your doubt. “You know, I once befriended a demon years ago. I had no clue what she was until months later when she started causing trouble for me and Dean.”

Your eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, and I grew up in all this,” Sam said, leaning in, “The point is, there’s no way you could’ve known. What happened to you is not your fault.”

“You know, sometimes I feel bad for what happened, other times…” you trailed off, not knowing exactly what you wanted to say.

“You feel relieved, and guilty.”

“Yeah, I… guess that’s pretty accurate.”

“I know the feeling.”

You started closing books again. “I’m gonna, uh, go take a nap. I think I’m wearing myself out.”

Sam frowned and leaned back in his chair, watching you retreat.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked.

You looked over your shoulder as you put books back on their shelves. “No, I’m good. Thank you. It’s just been a long day.”

You started walking towards the doorway, and Sam got up from his chair. “Let me know when you get hungry.”

You looked at Sam, pausing to give him a genuine smile. “I will, thank you.”

Sam watched you disappear down the hall, wondering whether you’d come back out of your room that day. He was trying to keep the balance between giving you space and keeping you from closing off completely, his own trauma having taught him how delicate that balance could be.

* * *

The next morning, the kitchen was cold and quiet. Coffee had been made, so you searched for cups, opening and shutting multiple cabinets. You found one with shelves full of identical white ceramic mugs, and reached up to grab one for yourself.

“Good morning!”

You jumped and the mug slipped from your fingers. Ceramic hit concrete and shattered, a thousand tiny pieces of mug coating the floor.

You turned around and saw Sam. “Shit, god I’m, I’m sorry!” you said.

You looked around for a broom, but Sam beat you to it.

“It’s ok, no big deal.” Sam crouched to the floor to sweep up the fragments into a dustpan.

You retreated against the counter, your heart thumping and palms sweating. The last time you dropped a dish, Seth had stormed into the kitchen…

Sam looked up at you, his smile fading. “Hey, it’s fine, I promise. We have, like, a hundred of these cups. They’re nothing special.”

Sam stood and tossed your accident into the trash can.

After putting the broom away, Sam approached you slowly, sticking a hand out as if he were going to place it on your shoulder. “Are you ok?”

You drew backwards and hugged your hands to your arms. “Mhm. It just scared me.”

Sam dropped his arm. “I’m really sorry, that was my fault. Dean knows my morning runs, but I forget you’re new to this, and us. I half expected to find him in the kitchen.”

You looked Sam up and down. He wore athletic shorts and a tank top, and his hair and shirt showed the sweaty evidence of his run. The ends of his hair were still dropping sweat onto his bare shoulders.

“You run?”

“Yeah, it helps with, uh,” He searched for the right word, hoping you would catch his meaning, “everything, and it’s good exercise, you know.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, just uh, the stress of the job,” he looked away, searching the counter for something to do. “Here, let me make you another cup of coffee.”

Before you could protest, Sam grabbed a new cup out of the cabinet and was making his way over to the coffee pot.

He finished and, keeping a noticeably safe distance, he held the coffee out to you. You couldn’t help but feel shy under his gaze. He was only making you coffee, but it felt like something more important. He looked at you like he was afraid you would fall apart at any moment, and he wanted to be the one to pick up the pieces and help put you back together.

You took a steadying breath before you accepted the coffee. Your fingers brushed his as the cup changed hands, and you quickly drew your hands back.

“I’m, uh, gonna go shower. You still want to do some reading later?” Sam said.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Alright, just let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.”

* * *

Since the mug incident, it was harder to emerge from your room without feeling like you were going to do something wrong. Your time with Sam had lessened, which was another choice you felt guilty about, but still, you had to contribute in some way. You couldn’t live in the Winchester’s home, leeching off their generosity.

You rinsed the last of the dishes from dinner and set them on the counter beside the sink, grabbing the only towel in the room to dry the dishes. As you were drying, Sam’s footsteps echoed down the hall before he reached the doorway. Your shoulders tensed.

You heard him come in and stop a short distance behind you.

“You did the dishes?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, lips pursed, your tone biting, “Is that ok?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t, you don’t have to clean up our mess,” Sam stuttered.

You dried your wet plates with a new fervor. “I’ve been here awhile now, I’m perfectly capable of pitching in.”

“Sorry,” Sam muttered,

“Y/N, you ready for our movie night?” Dean’s voice carried down the hall into the kitchen before his feet did.

“Movie night?”

“Yeah, I’m showing her my collection.” Dean entered the room, beaming with a healed shoulder and full mobility. 

“We’re watching Silence of the Lambs, if you want to join us,” you said sheepishly, trying to remedy the situation.

“No, that’s ok,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. Have fun.”

He stalked out of the kitchen, leaving you with more guilt than before.

Dean shifted on his feet. “I don’t mean to push, but, did something happen with you two?”

“It’s fine.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You guys went from hitting the books every afternoon to,” he waived his hand around, “this. What happened? Did he do something dumb?”

You sighed, throwing your hands up. “That’s just it! He hasn’t done anything. He’s been perfect. But that’s the problem.”

“I’m not following…”

“He was smothering me. I just need some air.”

Dean nodded. “Is that it? Are you worried about Eris?”

“What else are you looking for?”

“Nothing. I guess. Sorry for asking. Just, let me know if you need to talk or something. I know we haven’t exactly had a moment to-.”

“I’m fine, Dean, really. I just want to watch the movie and move on.”

You watched Dean filter through about three different reactions before he settled on one. “Ok, whatever you want, you’re in control.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, you found yourself in the gun range with a disgruntled Sam and an over-enthusiastic Dean.

“So, I just put up a new target and I’ve got everything set up right here.” He pointed to a shelf under a plexiglass window holding a gun, ammo, and earplugs. “Now, I’m with you, it never hurts to have some formal training, but can I ask, what’s the rush on this?”

“Yeah, are you sure you want to do this right now?” Sam asked. “There’s time for you to learn.”

You looked back and forth between the two of them, their eyes on you like well-trained, persistent hawks. “You both want me to get over all this, so I figured the best way was to learn how you guys deal with it.”

“That’s… not really what I had in mind,” Sam said.

“What? You don’t think I can do this?”

“No, that’s not what I meant either-”

“Then show me how.” You walked over and picked up the gun.

“Alright then. So, you hold the gun like this…” Dean began his instructional spiel, showing you where to place your hands, how to cock and uncock the gun, and what the different parts were called. You nodded as he thoroughly named every space and moving part down to the tiniest detail. There was the trigger and the barrel, which were easy enough to remember, and then the magazine and the hammer and the muzzle, which all sounded like other things.

He wanted you to watch his “good form” before you tried. You put in the earplugs as he fired off a few rounds, jumping at the gunfire even though you anticipated it.

Dean handed the pistol to you, and you took it, hands trembling, allowing yourself to feel the weight of it. The gun felt different from the one back home, a little heavier and the grip thicker. Dean stood behind you, positioning you and giving you tips. Sam watched silently off to the side, arms crossed.

Dean stepped back. You lifted the gun and coiled your finger on the trigger. It buzzed against your skin, screaming at you to pull it while your body froze and protested. You closed your eyes. _You are in a gun range. You are safe. You are in control._ You opened your eyes and fired two rounds.

The recoil from the gun sent shockwaves up your arms. The bullets didn’t go anywhere near the center of the target. You dropped the gun onto the shelf in front of you.

“Hey, that’s alright. Everyone’s a little nervous when they first shoot,” Dean said, patting you on the back.

You leaned on the counter, shielding your face from their view.

“Whoa, hey, are you ok?” Dean kept his hand at your back, waiting for a response.

Sam stood at your side, close but not touching. “Y/N, you really don’t have to learn this right now if you’re not ready. It’s ok.”

You turned towards him and shook your head, opening your mouth, fully prepared to tell him that it was fine, that you’d get over it and be able to learn. Instead, you sobbed.

Sam gently pulled the earplugs out of your ears and placed them on the shelf. He opened his arms, and as soon as you felt the space open for you, you fell into his embrace. All tension left your body as you fell slack. The weight of his arms held you together as you leaned into him. His hand rested comfortably heavy against the back of your head until you quieted down.

Sam pulled back, gazing at you sternly and holding you in place by your shoulders. “We’ll wait on this, we’ll find something else to do.”

You shook your head. “No. I want to train, it’s just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I should be able to do this!”

Sam sighed and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “Will you come with me? I want to show you something.”

“But, why?”

“Can you trust me, just for this moment?”

“I guess… Yeah, ok.” You exhaled. “I trust you.”

The place Sam had in mind was outside their garage. Large double doors had opened to a dirt driveway encapsulated in foliage. Trees hung over the path made of two tire lines and a patch of grass down the middle. Your eyes followed the drive as it disappeared around a turn, probably leading out to a road.

You stood next to Sam at the edge of the garage, craning your neck at the canopy. Light filtered down through the leaves; birds chirped and insects buzzed around you.

“This is where I start my runs,” Sam said, “The drive ends at the road out front, but I cut through the woods. I made my own path.”

You looked up at him. “You made a path?”

“Sort of. I ran the same way so many times it kind of created itself.”

“Wow.” You looked back out into the woods.

Sam shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing special, but I did want to show it to you, if you don’t mind?”

You shrugged. “Sure.”

You started the walk in silence, imagining yourself inside a tunnel. Sam cut into the forest. You followed, looking down and seeing the clearly marked dirt path he spoke of.

“What made you run so much to make this path?” you asked.

Sam glanced over at you, careful to keep himself on the narrow trail. “I love to run. Dean’ll tell you it’s because I’m a health freak, but I’ve found it’s really useful.”

“Useful how?” Leaves and twigs crunched under your feet. There was silence as the two of you walked, tiptoeing around dips and rocks in the trail. Had you said something wrong?

He stopped and turned to face you, more serious than before. “Can I tell you some things about myself?”

“I…If you want, I mean, I don’t want to-”

“No, it’s ok. I mean, I’m offering.”

“Right. Ok.”

“Well, you know I’m a hunter,” he said, “And life has never really been easy, or normal, for us. A lot of crazy, terrible things have happened to me and my family.”

He was guarding his words so carefully, acting as a barrier between you and the horrors he assumed you wouldn’t want to know. But you nodded, urging him to go on.

“I don’t want to tell you my sob story. I’ll make it short, but both my parents have died, I’ve watched Dean die, I’ve died myself. I’ve been, uh, possessed, and I’ve been tortured. When you say you feel like you don’t know what’s wrong with you, and you feel like you should be able to do more, I get that. I really do.”

You opened your mouth to say some part of what you were thinking, but all that came out was, “You died?”

Sam found some humor in your response. “That’s a story for another, long day, but that’s hunting. It’s dirty, messy, it’s tough. But I run because it gives me control, a tangible goal to work towards, and if I can’t do anything else in a day, I can run.”

“You think I should run?”

“No, not necessarily,” he paused, running a hand through his hair. With a rise and fall of his chest, and a Sam-sized exhale, he stopped holding back his words. “What I’m trying to say is, I get the startled reactions, the fear, your body acting on its own even when you know you shouldn’t be scared. Finding something like running, it helps. It really does. But you have to give yourself time, time to find something that makes you better and time to be ok with the process. You’re doing fine. I see you, and you’re doing great, but you don’t have to shoot a gun to prove that. Or do anything! Just, don’t be so hard on yourself or blame yourself because this happened to you, not because of you, and you will be ok. But it takes time. And you have time, you’re safe here.”

Tears pooled in your eyes. You wiped them away with the back of your hand as they continued to roll out. “Yeah. I know.”

Sam put his hand out to you. You glanced up at him, unsure, but you took his hand anyway, curling your fingers slowly around his. The pace of your breath hastened and your palms began to sweat as you walked the rest of the path together, but nothing else happened. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the walk, hearing everything that needed to be said in the touch of the other’s hand.

* * *

Although it hadn’t been Sam’s intention, you began to take up running. You were back to your other bunker hobbies as well; Sam had planned a whole lesson on cryptids for your time in the library the other evening, but today, he was showing you one of his favorite spaces in the bunker.

You stopped just inside the doorway, Sam flicking on the light, revealing what looked like a chemistry lab. There were metal tables and vials of unknown substances, all the typical scientist-esque items.

“What is all of this stuff?” You were afraid to pick up the jar of small bones, and the container of a black, slimy substance didn’t look safe either.

“Well, these items here can be used to make hex bags, which are basically curses, and some of that stuff on the shelf over there is for other spellwork.”

“What do you use these for?” You nodded towards the hex bag supplies.

“Well, we don’t use them, not really. My guess is that the Men of Letters used them against their enemies. But you hide them somewhere in a room where you know a person will be, then you recite a spell and, they die. Usually painfully.”

“And this is your favorite room?”

“Ok that sounds weird now.”

You laughed. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I guess. Oh- I didn’t mean it like that!”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “No, it’s ok. This must all be really weird to you, another crazy layer on top of everything else you’re dealing with.”

“Yeah well, if you had tried to tell me all of this before Eris broke my door and my boyfriend’s neck, I probably would have ran in the opposite direction.”

“Well I’m glad that didn’t happen. I mean, I didn’t mean it like that either, I meant like-”

“Me too,” you said, “Hex bags and weird slime and all, I’m glad I left with you.”

You smiled, and once Sam caught on, so did he.

“Thanks for running with me this morning, by the way, you’re getting faster.”

“But not fast enough to beat you.”

“Well, you know,” Sam pointed to his legs.

“You have an unfair advantage.”

“I never thought I-” Sam’s phone pinged in his pocket. “Sorry, this might be-” His face fell upon reading the notification.

“What is it?”

“Eris.”

Your stomach twisted into knots. You hadn’t heard from Eris in weeks. “How?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll explain. I need to find Dean.”

“It’s ok, let’s go.”

He grabbed your hand, walking you through the halls, eventually finding Dean sitting in the library.

Dean swung his legs off the table. “Where’s the fire?”

Sam pulled a twitter page up on his tablet and police reports on his laptop. You stood idly by, chewing on a fingernail.

“Look,” Sam said, “It’s chaos. People rioting, murdering with no cause. It looks like… one town in particular has been reduced to a Croatoan situation.”

“Where?”

“Close. Like two towns over close.”

“Shit,” Dean said, shaking his head. “How’d you find this?”

“I’ve been tracking tags and keywords. I set it up shortly after we got back from New Mexico. I figured it would be the best way of guarding ourselves, if we knew if she was close.”

Your knees wobbled. You fell into the nearest chair ungracefully, your chest tightening as you struggled to breath deep.

“Hey, you ok?” Sam crouched in front of you.

“Yeah, I just, I wasn’t expecting that.”

You avoided looking Sam in the eyes, knowing how hard it would be to tear yourself away from them. You could imagine the look of concern on his face without seeing it for yourself.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” he said.

You couldn’t keep your eyes away. You faced him and were met with what you feared: big, hazel eyes full of emotion, focused only on you.

“I don’t think it can wait,” you said quietly, as if only to him.

He was conflicted. He wanted to protect you, to reassure you that he would work things out; he wanted you to feel prepared. He hated the necessity of immediate action, but there were more lives than their own at stake, and Eris wouldn’t wait for any of them to be ready.


	6. Chapter 6

“So, we need a plan of action, like, right now,” Dean said.

“Yeah, we do,” Sam said. “I have something.”

He left your side to find a book. He flipped open the pages to a bookmark and began reading. _“Eris, a prince of hell, wove herself throughout history as the greek goddess of chaos and destruction. Neither declaring loyalty to Lucifer nor going into hiding like her siblings, Eris takes delight in meddling in the affairs of humans in deadly ways, possessing them, altering their mental states, or causing other demons to possess them and carry out her dirty work. Eris is unique to other princes of hell in that she studied and incorporated the human mythology of the greeks and their magic into her persona. She is a formidable foe, possessing the powers, as some say, of both princes of hell and the gods of mount olympus.”_

“So she’s like Azazel and Zeus in a single package? Great,” Dean said.

“There’s just one thing that bothers me about this whole thing,” Sam said.

“Only one?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking up from the book, “Does anyone else find it odd that we got out so easily last time?”

Dean pointed to his shoulder. “That was easy?”

“You know what I mean. All it took to break Eris’ spell was knocking you out. And whatever demons she had outside, if she had any, were gone by the time we left. It doesn’t make sense. Why would she make all that happen only to let us walk out?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe she just wanted to screw with us.”

“But now she’s back and she’s close, almost like she’s taunting us. I don’t like this. I don’t want to walk into a trap.”

“Then we get a couple steps ahead. How do we kill her?”

“The book’s not clear,” Sam said, flipping through the pages, “We can hit her with what we already know will kill a prince of hell, but we’re going to need backups if these legends are true. Devil’s traps, spellwork-”

Dean looked at you. “You spent time with her. You know her movements better than we do, you can give us some clues.”

“No,” Sam interrupted, “You don’t have to talk about that.”

“I know,” you said, shaking your head. “I know I don’t have to but… if it will help us kill her, then I’ll do it. What do you need to know?”

“Anything you can remember will be helpful,” Dean said.

“Ok.” You took a deep breath, “Well, Seth was always kind of jealous, I guess, but when he changed, it was like, he–I guess she–couldn’t let me out of her sight for more than a few minutes. He, or she, was always watching me. I couldn’t breathe wrong without her saying something to me.”

“So she’s observant,” Dean said.

“Very, and manipulative. But I don’t know when she left, so I don’t know how much was her or him in the end. I just… I remember at the beginning thinking he was acting odd because he asked me about everything I did, like, what streets I took to go to work or what food I ate for lunch. At first I thought he was just being sweet, like he wanted to know about my day, but then he- it got bad. And he would say things to me that, I don’t know, like he could pinpoint exactly what my insecurities were and use it to knock me down.”

You glanced up at the boys briefly, not sure what to say next.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say any more,” Sam said.

“So she knows how to control and will be able to pick up on our every move or get inside our heads,” Dean said.

“Possibly, and these legends may or may not be true.”

“Either way, let’s draw up a plan and hit her with everything we’ve got.”

* * *

You rode into the warzone the next morning. Outside your destination, Sam turned around in his seat.

“I know we have a plan but… you only do what you can handle, ok? You don’t need to prove yourself here. I can’t– We don’t want to see you hurt, ok? If things go south, you run to the car and go. We’ll give you the keys and you just go. Drive back to the bunker and wait for us there.”

You shook your head. “I can’t do that.”

“Y/N, please. Promise me you’ll go if I tell you to go.”

Your heart was being torn in two. Sam’s eyes were filled with fear. Dean said nothing.

“Ok,” you said, not knowing if you really meant it, “I promise.”

Dean slowed to a crawl as signs of civilization popped up on one side of the road, a few houses and then the main square up the road. Debris littered the asphalt. Trash, broken glass, pieces of metal and wood that could have been from store signs or furniture laid across the road and sidewalks. The only movement was the wind picking up loose trash and carrying it into the forest across the road.

Dean breaked before his tires met with glass and metal. Sam and Dean got out of the Impala to clear what they could from their path. You went back and forth between staying in and getting out until you saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

A woman was coming out of the forest, walking with a limp she didn’t seem to notice. She saw the boys and picked up speed. She was heading right towards them and both men had their backs turned to the trees. Your hand flew to the handle of the door, but Sam turned his head, saw the woman, and hollered at Dean.

He tried saying something to her, then he pulled out his gun. She smacked his arm away and jumped on him, knocking him to the ground. You white knuckled the door, screaming Sam’s name. The woman paused her attack and her head snapped in your direction. It bought Dean enough time to knock her unconscious.

She slumped over and Sam rolled her off him. You relaxed as you watched him get up, unhurt. He and Dean examined the woman on the ground, checking her pockets, her skin, opening her eyes.

Something smacked the back window and you screamed, jumping back in your seat as a man repeatedly hit your window and tried the door handle.

Sam and Dean ran to the car. All blood drained from your face when you saw more people coming out of the woods and down the street towards.

Dean knocked the man unconscious and pulled him away from your door. You rolled down your window for Sam. He had no time to ask if you were ok as you pointed out the windshield.

“Look!”

He turned his head and the color drained from his face. He grabbed Dean, turning his attention towards the approaching mob. Dean quickly dropped the man and ran for the drivers side. They got inside and slammed the doors just before the mob descended on Baby.

Dean turned the car on and put it in gear. “Time to run some zombies over.”

“Wait,” Sam said, putting his hand on Dean’s arm. “These are people under Eris’ spell. We can’t just run them over.”

“Dammit,” Dean said under his breath, “Ok, I’m going to try and get us somewhere where we can hide.”

He eased the car forward just enough to push through the crowd. The mindless citizens moved with the car, going to the sides as Dean pushed through. You sat in the middle of the back seat, looking back and forth between the door locks as fists pounded on the windows.

Once Dean saw a break in front of him, he gunned it, speeding down main street until he found an alley. His tires squealed as he took the tight turn, stopping in the middle of the side street.

“We’re going to jump out, grab the stuff from the trunk, and get inside one of these buildings. Let’s go,” he said.

Neither you nor Sam responded before the both of them flew out of the car and began grabbing weapons. You opened your door with shaking fingers and stumbled out. Sam quickly grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him as they took off to find an open door.

Dean found one first. A big, rusted metal door that squealed and whined as he opened it. Sam got in front of you, running in with a flashlight. You stayed close behind, unable to see anything in the dark room as the door shut behind you.

One of them found the light and flipped it on, revealing a dusty storage room full of file cabinets, metal shelves with office supplies, and old office equipment. The room was quiet and empty of civilians.

“We have to keep moving,” Dean said.

“We don’t know what’s out there.” Sam nodded towards the door on the far side of the room.

Dean looked at you. “You stay between us, do you understand? Do not get behind Sam or he won’t see you.”

You nodded, silently reminding yourself of the minimal training you had under your belt. You at least knew how to shoot a gun.

The door opened quietly into an open-floor office. The middle of the room was taken up by six large desks, lined up in two rows. Paper was everywhere. On top of the desks, stuck in between books and files on the shelves that lined the walls, and crumpled in and around wastebaskets. Computers and notepads sat on every desk. Old editions of newspapers were framed and hung on the walls.

Looking through the glass storefront, you could see that the mob had disappeared. There was no one else in the building. Not even a piece of the debris blew across the street outside.

From outside, you all heard a cry. It started out faint, but grew louder as if it were getting closer to the building. “Help me! Someone please! Help me!”

“We can’t leave her out there,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head, dropping his bag and readying his pistol.

“Stay here,” Sam said to you.

You watched as they walked out the front door, the glass giving you a clear view of their actions. They looked around, turning in circles, then looked at each other and shrugged.

Before they could come back inside, Dean was lifted into the air and flung out of your view. Sam shouted before he was thrown against the window, his head smacking into the glass.

“NO!” You ran towards the door but remembered what Sam said to you.

_If things go south, you run to the car and go._

You waited for Sam to give you the signal, to go find Dean, but he didn’t get up.

You ducked behind the nearest desk, hearing nothing but your own quivering breath.

You had to do something.

Dean’s bag was within reach. You leaned out from behind the desk, grabbing the handle and sliding it quickly to you. You rummaged inside, finding what you had hoped for.

You picked up the Colt, examining the parts, making sure it was loaded. You didn’t have any backups. You’d have to do this on your own. With a deep breath, you rose from behind the desk. As you exited the building, the gun hung at your side and the bell on the door rang out, signaling to Eris that you were now in the open.

Glancing at Sam, you saw the rise and fall of his chest. Looking the other way, Dean lay unconscious on the sidewalk.

You heard the familiar footsteps before you saw her. A pair of boot heels against asphalt. Eris walked like the street was her runway.

Sam began to stir, moaning your name under his breath.

“This is familiar,” Eris said, pausing to examine you. “You seem different, though. What is it? Love? Courage? The allure of revenge?”

“It’s been awhile since we last saw each other, since we escaped your trap.”

“If I had wanted you trapped, I would have made sure you never left that house.”

You gripped the colt tighter. “Then what was the purpose of hypnotizing Dean?”

“To do what I do best, spread discord. And get these hunters off my back. But it seems that wasn’t enough. I guess I’ll have to try harder this time.”

“But then, why New Mexico? Why me? What are you getting out of this?”

“This is my specialty. I search the world, looking for the perfect environments, and then I spread my magic. You just keep getting in my way.”

“Y/N, get out of here!”

Sam was fully awake now.

“It’s ok, Sam. I got this.”

“You’re not going to shoot that thing,” Eris said, “You’re so shaky, you’ll miss. I bet that’s why Sam wants you to leave, he knows you’re not ready for this. Best run away and let the men handle it.”

“Y/N-” Sam’s voice rang out but was cut off with a choking sound.

You closed your eyes, blocking her voice, her image, out of your head.

“See, you want to just lay down and take it. You know you’re not strong enough to fight. This is what you deserve after all, for being the lousy person you are.”

You thought of Seth, of his broken body laying on your living room floor.

“You can’t save Sam and Dean, you couldn’t save Seth, you couldn’t even save yourself! You’re not worth this fight.”

You opened your eyes, staring into Eris’ gold irises. “No.”

“The pathetic victim says no! Tell me, Y/N, what makes you so sure you’re worth saving?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t figured that out yet, but I know it’s worth it to me to save them,” You lifted the gun, steadying your arm, “And I know I want to see your body, dead, on the ground so you can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Eris opened her mouth to speak as you pulled the trigger, not giving her the satisfaction of a final insult. The bullet landed in the center of her forehead. Lightning crackled across her skin, and with a final burst of light and sound, her eyes faded from gold to gray. She fell, her face frozen in shock.

You kept the gun, and your eyes, pointed at her body.

“It’s ok, you’re ok. You can lower the gun. She’s dead.” Sam came up behind you, his hand on your shoulder.

“I did it.” Your arms fell.

Sam’s face was a mix of worry and relief. “Yes, you did. That was…amazing. I want to be mad at you for not keeping your promise, but-”

“I could never leave you, Sam.”

“I know.” Sam put his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. His lips fell against the top of your head. You clutched the fabric of his shirt, shutting your eyes tight, breathing in tandem with each other.

“Thanks for the help guys.” Dean was up and walking towards you.

“Sorry!” you said.

“You need me to help you walk again?”

Dean waved Sam off, stopping in front of Eris. “I told you you’re a good shot.”

“You really are,” Sam agreed.

“I learned from the best.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head. “Still seems weird that she didn’t put up much of a fight or realize what you were doing, you don’t have a scratch on you.”

“I guess she relied on her discord too much. She didn’t realize it only works when there’s something inside the person to mess with.”

“Well it’s a good thing she didn’t touch me or Sam again.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dude, really? Not the time.”

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m gonna be looking forward to many more of these moments right here.”

“So I guess that means you’re staying with us?” Sam said.

You squeezed Sam’s hand, looking up at him. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

* * *

You skidded to a stop on the side of the road, wheezing and doubling over. “Dammit I was so close!”

Sam stood a distance off, bent over in a stretch. “So close.”

“Oh shut up. I’m sure I shaved some amount of time off my run.”

“Maybe half a second?”

“Alright. You can walk home by yourself, Winchester.” You turned on your heels, heading back into the forest.

Sam caught you around the stomach before you could make it too far down the path, pulling you into his side. “You’re a great runner, ok? You’re a whole four minutes faster than when you started.”

“I know I am.”

“Hmm, I love that confidence.”

Sam bent down and planted a quick, sweaty kiss on your lips.

“We’ve been running a lot lately, haven’t we?” you said.

“We have a lot to get off our minds.”

“Not as much as when we started.” You began walking back to the Bunker together, hand in hand.

“That’s true.”

“Although, there’s one thing I haven’t been able to figure out after all this time.”

“What’s that?”

You stopped in the middle of the trail. “How did you know to find me in that parking lot? All those weeks ago?”

Sam reflected on his time in Socorro, on that moment when he saw the man in the parking lot pull out his gun. “I don’t know, I just thought something was off and I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“So you weren’t tracking creeps like you said? You were following me?” You put your hands on your hips playfully.

“I guess when you put it like that…”

“I’m kidding,” you said, starting on the path again. “I’m glad you followed me. I’m glad someone noticed, and did something. I owe you and Dean a lot.”

Sam stopped you again, grabbing your hand and turning you towards him. “No, you don’t. You don’t owe us a single thing. This is _your_ win. You overcame this.”


End file.
